Dark Horse
by Echo of a Memory
Summary: -HP/Twilight- War changed him. World weary, Harry disappeared in hopes finding some peace. Was it too much to be left alone? Apparently. And he didn't even want to get to know the locals. Especially, since they weren't exactly normal themselves... -Het-


**Dark Horse**

By

Echo of a Memory

……

Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

Twilight Saga © Stephanie Meyer

* * *

Chapter 1: The Coldest Winter

* * *

This time, I wonder what it feels like  
To find the one in this life, the one we all dream of  
But dreams just aren't enough

So I'll be waiting for the real thing, I'll know it by the feeling  
The moment when we're meeting, will play out like a scene  
Straight off the silver screen  
So I'll be holding my own breath, right up 'til the end  
Until that moment when, I find the one that I'll spend forever with

Cause nobody wants to be the last one there  
And everyone wants to feel like someone cares  
Someone to love with my life in their hands  
There's gotta be somebody for me like that

Cause nobody wants to do it on their own  
And everyone wants to know they're not alone  
There's somebody else that feels the same somewhere  
There's gotta be somebody for me out there…

**-Gotta Be Somebody by Nickelback-**

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North America

_British Airways_

Flight 287

_2:25 AM (Pacific Time)_

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Numbness.

His world revolved around it. That was all he felt. It was all he wanted to feel.

Dulled emerald eyes looked out the port window. Wispy clouds floated past.

Once upon a time he would have been beyond excited to be flying.

Once upon a time he would have been watching the world curiously with large innocent eyes, despite of his home situation.

Once upon a time he hadn't killed.

The roar of the engines filled the background with a constant hum. Occasionally a page being turned from a book punctuated through the quiet of the sleeping passenger cabin.

Now, his dreams were filled with smoke and screams.

Now, all he saw were hands slick with blood.

Now, he was beyond terrified to sleep. To dream the bloody ghosts that haunted his every waking step. To feel phantom pains. To wake up those in the Morpheus's arms with shouts of his nightmares and reveal how tortured his mind, body and soul really were.

Down the way bathroom door closed. The flight attendant was talking to a passenger in low tones.

One wouldn't think at seventeen years of age, that they'd be the poster child for military veterans. One wouldn't think that by attending a boarding school, that they would be an instant celebrity. One wouldn't think at they would be trading one gilded cage for another.

One wouldn't think that they'd be used as a martyr because of the skilled machinations of a master puppeteer.

Yet there he was. Harry James Potter, the last scion of the house of Potter.

At the age of seventeen, he was already played for a fool. And he lost everything.

_They had been blindsided. It was a surprise attack and it had their flank._

Torn. He'd been irreparably damaged.

_They had been told that the Inner Circle would be engaging the Order of the Phoenix at the front. Like good school children, instead of the soldiers they were, they listened to those who had experience. After all, who were they to go against Albus Dumbledore's orders?_

He had known that he'd been crippled for quite a while. That he would never be able to fight properly without damaging himself further. That he had _maybe_ a little over six years left to live if he didn't use his magic excessively.

_It was when they were looking one way, Voldemort struck from the other. And he cut them down mercilessly. Harry had barely been able to rally the remnants of the D.A. to fight back._

The trolley that flight attendants used for drinks rattled down the aisle. Harry stirred slightly from his sightless reverie when he was asked what drink he would like.

_And then the explosions began._

The black haired teen sipped the icy sprite, letting the carbonation burn down his throat. The fatigue of the fourteen hour flight, plagued by a strong head wind and more than a few delayed layovers, was getting to him. Harry closed his eyes and just listened.

_The smoking ground was littered with ashes, bodies, rubble, fires, and death. The only sound that heard was the crackling of the flames and his breathing. Shocked, unseeing eyes stared out into the devastated fields. _

His decision to leave England was done on a whim. More than anything else it was a vain attempt to leave behind what he done, what he'd lived through, to escape.

_A blood slicked hand weakly grasped the charred holly and phoenix feather wand. Harry hardly noticed as it shook with fatigue and exhaustion. _

Harry didn't considered the decision cowardly. If he had his way, Harry James Potter would be just another body on those bloody fields and he would be free to live without unknown obligations and manipulative old men.

_Vaguely he wondered where everyone was and why it was so quiet, the shock of everything numbing him to the core. He took a hesitant step forward and immediately slipped, impacting the ground with a solid thud. Blood stained sludge clung to his ripped clothes and skin. _

The flight attendant was coming by with a garbage bag, collecting the finished drinks. After handing over his empty glass, Harry slid out of his window seat and headed towards the bathroom, being sure to keep his gaze half lidded and averted.

_Dazedly shaking off the fog from his mind, the young wizard looked around and froze. Partially smeared intestines wrapped around his limbs, soaking him with their juices. _

The cool water washed away a little of his fatigue as he splashed his face. Putting his hands on both sides of the sink, the young wizard slowly looked up at the mirror. Staring back at him was the cold, jaded, lifeless gaze of a stranger. Even with the droplets running down his tanned cheeks, the bags under his eyes were clearly visible.

_He followed the stringy, white intestines with growing horror. There not half a foot away from him was a mutilated torso. _

The teen shook his head, trying to jar the unpleasant images from his mind. Water droplets flung every which way.

_Harry rolled away, beyond disgusted and tried to put some distance between himself and the body. The nausea threatened to engulf him as his mind began to register his surroundings, his Adam's apple convulsed as he tried to keep his bile down. _

The captain's voice came over the speakers, alerting his passengers that they were going to land soon. The ding of the seatbelt sign sounded and the engines roared.

_His hand knocked into something hard and slick. Harry turned, looked, and scrambled frantically backwards. He slipped on blood, brain matter, and internal organs as he tried to get away. _

Harry snatched a few paper towels and roughly dried his face. Perhaps he'd be able to rid himself of the feeling of phantom blood that ran down his skin. He couldn't explain it, the feeling, the _need_ to be cleansed somehow, someway.

_There in front of him he was a partially mutilated skull, the skin ripped away from half, the muscle and bone peeking through the shredded remains of epidermis. _

Quietly he exited the restroom and made his way to his seat. His eyes were half lidded, and gaze averted again. Harry silently slid into his seat and latched the seatbelt.

_His throat convulsed erratically as he registered who it was. Who's innards he was smearing all over the battle field._

He tiredly peaked out the window. A velvety black nothingness and grey fog met him. He couldn't even see the runway lights.

_Tonks._

The engine roar was almost deafening, vibrating the walls. The weightless feeling of descent had Harry gripping his armrests, his knuckles whitening. The joy of flying had left him long ago.

_His scream ripped through the deadened air._

The wheels bumped on the runway as the transatlantic flight landed. Various passengers were shifting in their seats in various states of awareness.

Harry sighed and fished a set of sunglasses he'd stored in his sweatshirt's front pocket. He casually hooked them over his ears before fishing out his rucksack from under the seat and grabbed onto the armrests again as the plain lurched while being guided to a terminal.

It would probably be a good ten to fifteen minutes before they were docked. San Francisco International was a rather large airport after all. He had a good hour and a half before his next flight, to Seattle, on the Northwest Airlines; Flight 7470.

In the very least, he had common sense enough to live in a place where the weather was similar to what he was used to. Permanency though, he'd have to wait and see.

That would allow him enough to time to locate the domestic terminal, which was in a different part of the port from the international flights, and get through security. At least he didn't have to wait through the baggage claim. The only luggage he brought was the beaten up, old, olive-green canvas backpack he'd snagged.

He had to travel fast and travel light. And he'd left in a hurry.

The trip might have been a whim, but he still had enemies. Voldemort might be gone, but that didn't mean anything. Especially after…

Harry slowly released his death grip on the armrests and stood. The teen patiently waited for his turn to slip into the crowded aisle. He shouldered his backpack, and sent a cursory glance back out the window into the inky nothingness.

Maybe, just maybe, he'd get to sleep tonight.

* * *

_::To Be Continued::_

* * *

A/N: This is a re-write of Gotta Be Somebody. The plot was dead, the characters were annoying, and Harry wasn't the way I envisioned him. I am extremely dissatisfied with current storyline and got the push in the right direction.

Also my external hard drive was wiped and took everything with it. That was brutal.

I finally broke down and listened to the audio version of the Twilight books (there was no way I was going to subject myself to reading them again, too many invaluable and innocent brain cells were sacrificed needlessly in that attempt) just to make sure that I have the characterizations right (partially anyways) and to take out any clichés I inadvertently wrote (Bella is still an ungrateful, complaining, self-conscious, obsessed, infatuated fan-girl).

I can say this though, don't go expecting canon, martyr, hero Harry. If you do, you'll be horribly disappointed.

Hopefully I get it right this time. I won't promise you anything.

Echo 10/21/09


End file.
